


Coping Strategies

by Bibliodragon



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliodragon/pseuds/Bibliodragon
Summary: Night on Infinity, and Sarah Palmer considers how to silence old ghosts.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Coping Strategies

Nestled in among the perks of being Commander, next to the constant paperwork and responsibility for over 300 men and woman who seemed to take great pleasure in coming up with more and more elaborate ways to kill themselves, was your own quarters in Spartan Town. Not as large or fancy as the Captain’s (but that was Navy for you) but it meant she had her own bedroom and bathroom, and it included an office slash lounge thing. 

Palmer had never liked it. She’d spent around half her life bunking with other soldiers. She missed the camaraderie of it. If you could trust someone not to say anything after being screamed awake at 0200 hours beyond the normal good natured shit, you could trust them to take out the Covie bastard coming at you with a plasma grenade. And you would do the same for them. She had done.

PTSD. The great equalizer. 

Course, some were considered more equal than others, despite what her bosses may say. Which is why when she bolts herself awake, there’s no one around to see this humanity slash weakness, and she remains the unfeeling Commander responsible for saving her Spartans from themselves. And anything that she may have been able to learn about them in the dead of night, why, she had reams of psychological profiles and files and reports by ONI’s finest. 

No one ever said anything at the time. But her first sergeant, gods rest her soul, had taken her aside one moment the next day during training. “The only thing that matters is if you can shoot straight, and stay awake during recon.” Then later in the mess hall: “Good scotch. Or not so good. It’s always 5pm somewhere in the universe.” 

As she kicked off sweat soaked sheets and turned to put her feet on the floor, not for the first time she thought how it was a pity that augmented everything included a metabolism that could process alcohol so fast you were sober as soon as the shot glass was back on the table.

0300\. That would make it roughly an hour’s sleep. She flexed her arm just to prove to herself she still could, once, twice, and then rubbed the back of her neck. An hour’s sleep would do. 

Standing shivering under a shower set at cold to the point of pain, she pushed her hands against the ceramic tiles and let out a deep breath in the old familiar routine. The faint smell of disinfectant underneath soap and water. That was real, immediate. _Blood, burning, plasma, and for some reason always dusty flooring. Dusty flooring, and a space that should have been too small for her._ She let it all flow away with the water. 

Dorsey, her second squad, had always sworn by sex as a solution. For most things, come to think of it. But she had been eighteen, well aware she could die any day, and he was good looking (though sadly knew it). And he was right about one thing: wiping that smug look off his face by fucking him until he begged for mercy provided excellent stress relief for many a night. Up until he took a needler round to the face on a routine op. But afterwards, it had never been hard to find anyone else looking to let off some steam. 

Hell, it was an ODST trade secret. Her squad leaders had always overlooked screwing around as long as it didn’t interfere with the job, and she knew full well many of her own Spartans were at it like rabbits, but she’d only rarely had cause to intervene. 

But that was something that was out of bounds to her ever since she made Spartan Commander. While there were some men and women under her command that could do with getting taken down a peg or two that way, she’d heard enough stories, and seen a few examples personally, to know that was a bad idea. 

With a sudden movement she turned the dial, leaving behind the sound of water gurgling down the drain and her own breathing. Too many old ghosts. She stepped out, towelled off, and grabbed her undersuit. 

Another ODST trade secret: when haunted by your own ghosts, you return the favour by making some more for the other side. Admittedly that was a lot easier to achieve when you were in the middle of a war for the very survival of humanity, but there were alternatives available on humanity’s most advanced warship.

As she caught the last seal on her suit she stepped into the lounge and turned to the tactfully dark holo-projector in the corner of the room. “Roland, send word to the Wargames that I’ll be down there in thirty minutes, and they better have Apex ready and waiting for me.”

“Aye Commander.” The room was awash with gold light as the AI’s avatar flicked into being. Roland gave a theatrical yawn, and blinked at her owlishly. In place of his regular aviator get up, he was wearing a large, fluffy dressing gown, though his aviator cap was still in place. “They are thoroughly terrified and getting things prepped as we speak.”

She gave him a long look. “Seriously Roland?” 

“You don’t believe me? Oh.” He looked down at himself and up at her. “What, can’t an AI get some shut eye?”

“Are those bunny slippers?” 

“Neat huh?” He lifted a foot and beamed at her proudly. “I was torn between those and the dinosaur feet, but I though why mess with the classics.” 

She pinched at the bridge of her nose, which had the advantage of hiding her mouth. “Roland…” 

“I was trying for pink, but the projector had some issues with that. You’d think by the twenty-sixth century they would have got a handle on that.”

She managed a sigh with the correct level of exasperation in it. 

“What? I’m trying a thing. Night-mode. You know, the subtle approach. Considering the Captain didn’t appreciate my rendition of ‘Go The Fuck To Sleep’ ten minutes ago.”

“Tom woke up?”

“Captain Lasky never went to bed. Not that I’m a narc or anything. I am an AI of many skills, but putting stubborn Captains to bed is kinda outside my paygrade.” 

“Great!” They had talked about this. “Roland, tell Wargames to expect me in an hour. Tell me if Tom goes down on his own, but do not give him advanced warning I am heading up there to yell at him.”

“Do not tell the Captain you are on your way to sing sweet lullabies, got it.” He gave her a salute as she glared at him. 

“I mean it Roland!” She spun on her heels and was at the door, then turned back to him. “By the way, you should be holding a coffee cup.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Would tie the whole thing together.” 

One of the perks of being Commander was at least you could go solve other people’s problems.


End file.
